


Through a Glass, Darkly

by Smokeycut



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Anthology, Canon Typical Violence, Earth 3, Gen, Minor BBRae, Minor TimKon, Mirror Universe, some original characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-08-24 04:39:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16633109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smokeycut/pseuds/Smokeycut
Summary: On Earth 3, morality is flipped. Heroes are villains, villains are heroes, and nothing is the way it was meant to be. The Crime Syndicate of Amerika rule with an iron fist, and the heroes who oppose them are few and far between. But even in the darkest world, humanity will cling to the hope of a brighter tomorrow.





	1. Kal Il of Krypton / Alexander Luthor

**Author's Note:**

> So, a bit of an explanation, just to start us off. If you're not familiar with Earth 3, it's DC's mirror universe. This fic is not a 1-to-1 match for any pre-existing version of Earth 3, but it does borrow elements from them. It's my own take on a canon AU that rarely gets explored in depth.
> 
> If you're here for a specific character, check the chapter index. Each chapter is named after the focus character(s). And yes, this is an anthology fic, so each chapter is fairly self contained, though you might get a bit more out of reading every chapter. Not all chapters are in chronological order, either. Just the order that they're written and posted in. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Jor Il sighed, and offered one last parting look to his planet as fires raged in the distance and fissures split the city of Argo in two. Surely, his brother’s family had already been consumed by flames. But he had no time to dwell on spilt blood and burnt corpses. Not when his peoples’ final hope rested before him. The rocket was small, only half his size. A midnight blue capsule was in the center of it, with a small, wriggling child laying inside, swaddled in a blood red blanket with their family crest sewn onto it. Jor beamed with pride at his progeny as he recorded a final message onto a data crystal, his last gift to the infant.

“My son, Kal Il… It is imperative that you understand why I sent you to the world that you’ll surely call your home. Krypton, the world of your birth, of your people, is dying. Our planet’s core is unstable, a victim of ceaseless mining and abuse for the sake of wealth and resources. Ambassador Zod tried to warn us of what we were doing to Krypton, of the consequences our actions could have, and we executed him for it. Take from that this one lesson, Kal:

“When you come of age, and the yellow sun of Earth grants you immeasurable power… Do not waste your breath on the safety of fools who will never listen to you. Humans, like Kryptonians, are fools, too stupid and selfish to understand threats that will kill them until it is far, far too late. So do not bother trying to protect them. Children will only learn once they have burned themselves already.”

Jor Il let loose a wry laugh. It was his own fault that he would die this day, and he had no shame in admitting his own culpability in this approaching doom. He simply hoped that his son would learn from his mistakes. He adjusted the collar of his green and red jumpsuit and continued with his final speech.

“It is time for you to reveal yourself to your new world and rule it’s collective humanity. Stand above them, Kal Il. Discover what your strength and power may claim as yours, and take it without hesitation. Always hold in your heart the faith that you are a God among ants. They are a weak people, Kal Il, and they always shall be. They stumble blindly through the darkness. For this reason, above all, their desire to be subjugated, I have sent them you, my only son.”

With a grim finality to his actions, Jor Il ended the recording process and plucked the data crystal from its socket. He placed it in Kal’s rocket, and shut the hatch. One final press of a button was all it took to activate the vessel, and send it to Earth. Just seconds after it left the planet’s atmosphere, Jor Il was consumed by the raging fires, and his son became the last Kryptonian in their universe.

******************************

Kent Clarkson looked down at Neotropolis with a sneer written plainly across his face. People milled about, going about their business without a care. He spotted three purse-snatchings in under five minutes, just on one city block. His ultra-hearing picked up the sounds of a stabbing five blocks south, as well as a group of cops beating an innocent man two blocks east. Not one of them knew that tonight, Earth’s history would forever change. These people had never witnessed the fantastic. They thought that they were alone in the universe. If he were to tell them that an alien lived among them, they would call him insane and punch him in the gut. He would deserve it, for allowing himself to sound so stupid.

Statements were worthless without proof. And that summer night in Neotropolis, Kent Clarkson, Kal Il, would provide proof of the extraordinary. 

He landed in the street, his impact strong enough to leave a small crater in the pavement and send several innocents flying from the shockwave. His eyes burned red like coals, and when a man raised a gun in his direction, a clap was all it took to send him through a storefront window. He saw someone attempting to flee in a car, and shook his head. What an idiot, he thought, so stupid to bring attention to themselves. He dashed forward and gripped the car by its rear bumper, then hoisted it above his head. He leapt through the air, laughing with murderous joy, and slammed the car down onto a woman whose screams of terror had begun to irk him.

Ice breath overwhelmed the sheep in line at an ATM, freezing them all solid. He sauntered past, pushing the newly crafted ice sculptures to the ground as he moved by them, and listening to them as they shattered on the sidewalk. One punch was all it took to destroy the machine, and he set about stuffing bills into his backpack. His ultra-vision spotted someone calling the police in a building across the street. A stupid, pointless gesture. They wouldn't bother, not without payment. But Kal would happily greet the man. He made sure to acquaint the caller's head with the curb outside.

The night raged on, and by the time he had grown bored of his rampage, Kent rose up into the night sky, and came to a stop in front of the globe on the roof of The Daily Planet. His eyes burned brighter, and flames shot from them, adding substantially to the horror of the survivors below. His flame vision carved a symbol into the silver globe, a signature to his first night out on the town. A square containing a U. 

The crest of the dead house of Il. The symbol of Ultraman.

******************************

Alexander Luthor pressed his hand against the Rock of Eternity and breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, after months of searching, he had found it. The one hope of humanity. The legend that none believed in. None but him. He laughed and scratched his copper beard as a rumble shook the stone that stood before him. The ancient obelisk crumbled before his very eyes, and behind it a caverne was revealed. 

Alexander lit a torch and entered slowly, with bated breath. In the distance of the cave, a small light could be seen, and he approached it with a growing sense of calm. The closer he got to it, the more his racing heart slowed, and his mind focused like a laser. He saw that the light came from a man, whose face was obscured by shadows, even when Alexander held his torch above them both. The strange yellow light was emanating from the old man’s chest, in the shape of a lightning bolt. He looked up at Alexander, and despite the shadows hiding his face, Alexander knew that the wizard was smiling at him.

“You are human?”

“I am,” Alexander answered with a nod.

“You came here alone?”

“I did.”

“You came for my power?”

The third question gave Alexander pause, but he decided that it was best to answer truthfully. He looked the wizard dead-on and spoke with confidence and honesty. “I came in search of power, yes. Power to save my world from the whims of a monster.”

“Power corrupts, surely you are aware of that?”

“I am. And while I don’t know that I would be immune to that corruption of will and morality, I wish to temper it with hope and compassion.”

The wizard nodded slowly, and Alexander found a sense of calm wash over himself once again, even as water dripped from the cave’s ceiling and onto his shoulders and face. Even as the coldness of the chamber chilled him to the bone.

“Mmm… You are not pure of heart, Alexander Luthor. Yet… You are pure of intention.”

Luthor’s breath hitched, and he desperately wanted to ask for elaboration. He just wanted to know if his months of searching had been fruitless, or if he could return to Neotropolis with the power to save his people from the alien that reveled in their pain and suffering.

The wizard reached out and pressed his open hand against Luthor’s chest. A warmth radiated from the old man, despite the coldness of his surroundings. He looked up at Alexander, and even when they faced each other directly, just over a foot apart, his face remained shadowed. But his power glowed ever brighter.

“Say my name, and my power shall be yours.”

Luthor exhaled and steeled his nerves. He clenched and unclenched his hands, and steadied himself on his feet. He no longer felt quite so tired, and yet he also felt more exhausted than he ever had before. He was a ball of excitement, and a wall of calm. He opened his mouth, and he said the word.

“ _Mazahs_.”

And with a bolt of blue, a roar of thunder, a flash of lightning and magic, Alexander Luthor transformed for the very first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kal Il and Mazahs are both aspects that come from the New52 version of Earth 3, although that version of Mazahs is not nearly as benevolent as mine.
> 
> A heroic Alexander Luthor comes from the original version of Earth 3, where he was the world's sole superhero.
> 
> Kent Clarkson comes from LEGO DC Super Villains, which is ridiculously fun and silly. 
> 
> All other aspects, such as Neotropolis, are my own ideas.


	2. Thomas Wayne Jr.

It didn’t sound like a car backfiring, and it didn’t sound like a pop. People always said it did, but when Tommy heard the gun fire and watched his parents crumple under their own dead weight, he thought that it couldn’t possibly be mistaken for those things. Perhaps a firework going off, or the crack of a whip, but certainly not a car backfiring. 

The second thing he heard was Bruce’s cries of anguish and impotent outrage. Tommy wished his older brother would stop screaming. It wouldn’t bring their mom and dad back. Alfred seemed to think the same, since Bruce’s cries were silenced by another shot from his pistol. The butler-turned-gunman turned to Tommy and raised an inquisitive brow. When it became apparent that Tommy wasn’t going to scream, or cry, or run, or beg for mercy, Alfred’s lips curled up into a small, proud smile.

“Not a peep, eh chap? Good. I was hoping that between your brother and you, one would have the fortitude that The Court is looking for. I’m quite happy to say that you’ve got what he hadn’t. Good lad.”

“Are you going to kill me?” Tommy asked simply. His face betrayed no emotion, because there was no emotion at all to be found beneath his stoic expression, no matter how deep one searched for it. Not even a sliver. The young boy merely wanted to know whether he would be joining his family in a pool of blood on the gravel.

Alfred smiled wider, and patted Tommy on the shoulder. “No, Master Thomas. In fact, I’m about to take you to a special place, where your life will truly _begin_.”

“Okay.” Tommy looked at his parents, and at his brother, as Alfred led him away. He thought to hiumself that he ought to feel something, anything, after what he had witnessed. He did, in fact, begin to recognize a growing feeling, deep in his gut. He looked up at Alfred and confided in the old man.

“I’m hungry.”

Alfred chuckled, and promised to stop for some chicken nuggets on their way to The Court.

******************************

They taught him many things. Every possible way to take a life with his bare hands. Every possible weapon he could wield, improvised or otherwise. Every possible way to cover his tracks so that nobody knew The Court of Owls existed, or that he served them. How to fight with a broken arm, a broken leg, one of each or two of the same. How to lie, how to manipulate, how to run the perfect con or craft the perfect cover identity. But most important of all, they taught him how to spot and abuse weaknesses. Everyone had a weakness to exploit. If they didn’t, that just meant they were good at hiding it. Thomas Jr. learned how to find even the most well hidden of weaknesses. He even learned how to find his own.

They gave him equipment. A set of lightweight black armor with gold trim. A hood, with brass goggles that evoked the image of an owl. He didn’t understand the obsession with owls, to be totally honest. They weren’t hardly wise enough for it to be fitting. They also gave him a belt of throwing knives, a garrotte, a grapple line, cyanide capsules, and a vial of curare poison. Speciality missions that required other equipment were rare, but it would always be supplied if needed. 

From the age of six to the age of fifteen, they trained him. He became nocturnal, training through the night and sleeping through the day. The public surely thought that he was dead. Hey very well may have been, considering how different his life was now. He wasn’t the little rich boy he used to be. He didn’t go to the movies with his mommy and daddy and big brother. He was a teenager, and he had taken eight lives already. 

By the time he was eighteen, nobody could recognize Thomas Wayne Jr. Even if he were to march up to his grandparents, they’d think him a stranger. He had lost the handsome face his father passed on to him. Hundreds of bruises and cuts and dozens of broken noses had turned his face into someone else’s entirely. Ugly to some, rugged and tantalizing to others. His only complaint was the color of his eyes. He had his mother’s eyes. Brown. Not like Bruce’s and their father’s cold blue. He thought that theirs would suit him far better than his own.

Alfred stayed by him through the years. One familiar face keeping watch among the dozens of blank owl masks. Alfred was the only one who could see beneath Thomas’ own mask. The mask of loyalty, of fealty, of subservience. The frail old man knew that the day was coming. The day that his protege would rise up and put the arrogant rich bastards in their place. 

His nineteenth birthday. He kept track, even when nobody else did. He marked the walls of his room for over a decade, and when the day came, he didn’t waver from his intention. Thomas Wayne Jr, The Court’s finest Talon in generations, approached his masters and mistresses, and he told them what he had been waiting to tell them since he was six years old.

“You are all doddering old fools. You hide behind your masks, yet you have taught me the skills to ascertain your true identities. Did you not think I would try to discover who you truly are?”

They murmured amongst themselves, aghast at his sudden display of free will and thought. But he silenced them the moment he spoke again.

“I poisoned your families three hours ago. Your pets, too. And please, raise a hand if you have yet to drink your wine this evening.”

They stared at him, frozen in shock and horror. One unsteady hand was slowly lifted. Eleanor Elliot. He expected as much, with her past as a recovering alcoholic. A throwing knife took care of her as the others, all of them, succumbed to the poison in their drinks. And all the while, Alfred beamed at his boy with pride. It was time for Thomas to reenter society, and to claim his rightful place as the heir to the Wayne fortune. He left his hood on the floor, with the rest of the discarded trash. He wasn’t a Talon anymore. The owls were dead. Long live the owls.

Long live _The Owl_.

*****************************

Owlman stood across the rooftop from Ultraman. The only light came from the moon, and from the Kryptonian’s burning red eyes. Ultraman sneered in his direction, and Owlman stared blankly back. He kept a hand on his utility belt, and another firmly grasped an owlrang. Perhaps it had been a mistake, summoning the Kryptonian to Gotham City. But he was too curious not to. He wanted to see him in action. To prove that he was smart and able enough to survive a confrontation with him, and to come out on top.

“This world isn’t big enough for two capes,” Ultraman spat. The rain beat down on him hard, yet he looked comfortable as ever.

“You may have to alter that belief. I already have reports of an Amazon from ancient Greek lore arriving on the shores of Normandy. This past Tuesday, at twelve in the afternoon.”

“I don’t care about any Amazon. I care about the guy in the bird pajamas screwing around with me while I was handling some very important business. You cost me twelve million dollars, you worm!”

“You can have it back. I just wanted to get you out here. See the legend for myself.” Thomas’ lips twitched upwards, ever so slightly, and for only a split second, before returning to his blank faced expression. 

“I ought to pop your head clean off your shoulders,” Ultraman threatened, stepping closer. He closed the gap in no time at all, and was soon touching Owlman, chest to chest. He was rather tall, Thomas would give him that much.

“If you kill me, or affect my vitals in any way, my belt buckle will spring open and bombard you with enough Blue Kryptonite to kill you instantly.”

Ultraman fell silent, and his confidence wavered. A quick x-ray scan of Owlman’s belt confirmed lead shielding. He couldn’t be certain that the man had Blue Kryptonite on his person, but he couldn’t deny it with any sense of assuredness either. He looked Owlman in the eye, or goggles rather, and cooled his flame vision, revealing his soft blue eyes.

“And if we agree to a truce?” He asked.

“I’ve got Green K back at my coop. A present, if you decide to play nice,” Thomas offered. “That is the kind you like, isn’t it?”

Ultraman grinned, and clasped a hand on Owlman’s shoulder. “Mr. Owl, I think we’re about to begin a beautiful relationship.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thomas Wayne Jr. being Owlman comes from a variety of takes on Earth 3, to the point where it's just the default now. I like it though, so I'm keeping it.
> 
> The connection to The Court of Owls comes from the Prime Earth Owlman, Lincoln March. Who may or may not be Thomas Wayne Jr. 
> 
> And this first meeting between Kal and Thomas was partly inspired by Batman V Superman, but mostly just in terms of them butting heads at the start. But their friendship, at least in this take on Earth 3, is going to be a genuine one. I've never been fond of them always backstabbing and hating each other, like in more recent incarnations of the Crime Syndicate. I much prefer the 1960s version, where they're friends who commit crimes together.


	3. The Crime Syndicate of Amerika

The Panopticon orbited Earth in silence, hidden from any and all radar equipment, and cloaked from conventional view. The benefits of Amazonian stealth science. Not a soul on Earth knew of the satellite's existence, save for the three who walked its halls at that hour. Two of them, a pair of men clad in silver and blue respectively, sat at a rectangular table in the center of the war room, their eyes locked onto a giant computer screen. It cycled through images of a man in red and gold, and a woman in red and blue. Most of the images involved some sort of mutilation or wanton destruction at their cruel hands. Most of the images also had them laughing like a couple on their honeymoon.

“The male calls himself Johnny Quick, and the female goes by Atomica,” Owlman explained as Ultraman examined the pictures. Owlman tapped his fingers on the table as he spoke, frustrated by the absence of their third member, and awaiting her return. She wouldn’t get a say if she wasn’t there. 

“What’s their deal? Electricity generation?” Ultraman tilted his head at one image, which depicted Johnny Quick dragging a cop’s fried corpse along the ground behind him as he ran.

“Only as a side effect. Quick has developed superhuman speed. My recordings show him clocking in as faster than the speed of sound, at the very least. It’s possible he can even surpass light speed. Whenever he runs, electricity discharges become frequent, and quite chaotic.”

“And the girl?”

“Hm. She has a specialized belt which contains white dwarf star matter. It allows her to change her size, growing as large as a skyscraper, or shrinking to as small as an atom.”

“Hence the name.”

“Precisely. I looked into their pasts while I was at it. They were a pair of low level crooks before they stole the resources that granted them their newfound abilities. Jonathan Chambers and Rhonda Pineda. Johnny’s came first, Atomica’s after, though only by a week and a half. Since then, they’ve progressed to mass murder, arson, bank robbery, and the occasional act of public indecency.”

“I don’t need pictures of that,” Kal scoffed as he reclined in his chair. He shot Thomas a look, then added, “Unless you’ve got them.”

Thomas cleared his throat. Or it may have been a laugh. Kal could never quite tell, when it came to him. He waited another ten seconds, but still Superwoman had yet to join them. He pressed on. “Will we be bringing them aboard?”

“I’m game. Even with powers, it doesn’t look like they’ve got much ambition. They won’t be likely to question our authority. And you do know how little I enjoy my authority being questioned.” Kal liked the look of them, although he’d have to get them some proper costumes. Hoodies and track pants weren’t going to cut it in their line of work, not if they wanted to be taken seriously. Maybe work Johnny’s lightning into a nice little accent on his suit.

“Likewise.” Thomas pressed a button on the table, and a new set of images appeared with a bleep. 

A man with long, flowing blonde hair and a beard that would make a barbarian king proud. His right eye was scarred and blind, and one of his hands had been cut off and replaced with a barbed golden hook. In the first image, he stood, bare-chested, atop a submarine, with waves crashing against him, yet the water did nothing to move him. The second showed him underwater, swimming alongside the submarine. The third was a video, showing him pass it in a split second and rocket off further into the depths of the sea.

“Very macho. Are you trying to tell me something, Thomas?” 

Owlman ignored the joke, and began his explanation of the third candidate. 

“Arthur Joseph Curry, the Sea King. I haven’t been able to glean much, at least not yet. He enjoys his privacy. What I do know is that his father is in prison for illegal experiments on a human test subject, most likely his son. He seems to have gills, and the ability to survive the crushing depths of the ocean. As a result, he has strength and speed to match yours. He’s also an Olympic level swimmer, which you are not.”

“Touche.” Kal appreciated the smirk that Thomas briefly allowed to flash across his face.

“He also seems to have some low level telepathic abilities. Enough to control sea life, but cause little more than headaches in humans of average intelligence. Naturally, I won’t have to worry about him trying anything on me. With these powers, he’s built up a small, loyal crew, and managed to become the planet’s most fearsome pirate.”

“He docile? Or will we have to worry about any mutinies?”

“He’s ambitious, but I think that so long as we leave his oceanic territory alone, he’ll play ball.”

“He can raise Atlantis for all I care, but if he tries to muscle us out, he’s getting lasers through the brain.”

“Fine by me,” Owlman agreed. “That about covers it for my suggestions. Unless you want to reconsider Elastic-Man?”

“Definitely not.” 

Kal pressed a button on his own console, and the images shifted once more as his own picks appeared. Names, crimes, and details about powers filled the screen around the cycling images. Before he could begin, the doors to the war room whooshed open, and Superwoman joined them. She wore a black leotard, a yellow half-cape that hung off her shoulder, tall black boots, long black opera gloves, and even an S pendant around her neck. A golden lasso hung from her hip, and she ran a hand through her large mane of curly black hair and took a seat at the end of the table, sitting between her cohorts. She crossed her legs and leaned forward, propping her chin up with one hand as she perused the information on screen.

“Glad you decided to finally join us,” Owlman muttered, sparing her a glance.

“I had to use the bathroom. Sue me.” She rolled her eyes, and gestured for Kal to start.

“Right then. First up; Power Ring. Also known as Harold Jordan. High school dropout, military washout, and a coward among cowards.” The images showed a nervous, squirrely man with short brown hair and an olive green janitor’s uniform, bearing the logo of Ferris Aircraft.

“Sounds like a real charmer,” Superwoman snarked.

“He may not look like much, but…” Kal pressed a button, and the image was replaced by one of the same man, only now wearing a green and black jumpsuit with a triangular white symbol on his chest. A green X shape filled the logo, which matched the impression on the green ring he wore on his left hand. Although “wore” wasn’t a very accurate word. It was more like the _ring_ wore _him_. Green tendrils snaked out of it and into his body, causing bright green veins to bulge out of his arm. Cancerous growths also appeared on the limb, and they were quite disgusting to behold.

“Harold here had a chance encounter with a visitor from another world, and it wasn’t me. The alien brought this nasty little toy with him. The Power Ring; a cursed object that takes control of whoever is dumb enough to put it on. It feeds on his fear, and turns that energy into the most fearsome hard light constructs you can imagine, and Harold’s got quite an active imagination.”

“So his cowardice is a boon, rather than a weakness,” Owlman noted with a slight nod. 

“The ring is in charge of their relationship. It uses its host like a puppet, and makes them cause as much destruction as it wants. Harry eats, sleeps, and shits only when the ring decides he should. And when it comes to ambition, it’s content to play second fiddle, so long as it gets to keep feeding on the fear of its victims.

“So? Yea or Nay?” Kal turned to his friends and awaited their reactions.

“I like him,” Superwoman said with a devilish grin. “I could use another man squirming for my approval.”

“Hm. Better than Elastic-Man,” Owlman admitted, much to Ultraman’s pleasure. “Who else do you have?”

Ultraman pressed another button, and the presentation moved onto his second pick. An archer, themed after Robin Hood, but clad all in blue. 

“You’re familiar with Blue Bowman, Thomas. He’s more of an afterthought on my list, I’ll admit, so I’ll defer to you on whether he has what it takes to be one of us.”

“Hm. Might not be the best idea. We’re looking for two things, correct? Power and submission to our authority. We don’t need dissenters, and we don’t need anyone who can’t pull their own weight.”

“Which is he lacking in?” Superwoman asked.

“Power. King is little more than a white nationalist with a compound bow. His greatest invention is a boxing glove arrow, whereas mine grants me the ability to dominate minds, if I’m not counting the orbital satellite laser we’re currently sitting in. He pays me my cut on time, but I’d rather keep him as a low level enforcer than promote him to teammate status.”

“Fair enough,” Ultraman conceded. No harm, no foul, and so he moved to the next candidate, a middle aged man with a receding hairline, with video footage showing him in a lab of some sort. “How about Dr. Martin Stein?”

Thomas’ head perked up, and he leaned forward intently. “You made contact with Stein?”

“Sure did,” Kal boasted with pride. “He may not have physical power, but we’d be idiots to pass up on his brains. The smartest man in the world, after Michael Holt “mysteriously” vanished last month. Courtesy of Dr. Stein, of course.”

“Did he tell you how he did it? I’ve been dying to know.”

“Teleported him to some backwater planet called Rann.”

Thomas grinned. “I’d be happy to bring the good doctor aboard. Superwoman? Any thoughts?”

“Mmm… Sure, why not? He could beef this place up a little. I just wish he had the brawn to back up that big brain of his.”

“That may not be a problem anymore,” Ultraman said. “He hasn’t managed it yet, but he’s been experimenting with a device called the Firestorm Matrix. Once he finds a suitable partner, he’ll be able to merge with them, and access power beyond his wildest dreams. Or so he says. I promised him that, should you two approve his membership, we’d provide as many test subjects as his experiment needs.”

“He could ask us for Germany and I’d give it to him,” Thomas said, still studying the image of the mad scientist.

Ultraman ended the presentation and stood up from his seat. He stretched his back and yawned as his fellows stood as well. Together, they made their way towards the room’s exit, and into the Panopticon’s common area, where a ringed sofa sat inside a lower level, and a television hung on each wall. Kal reclined on the couch and shut his eyes. Thomas sat beside his head, and pulled off his helmet to do some small repairs. Eve flipped on one of the televisions and browsed her Netflix queue. In the coming days, their modest organization would expand to include five of the world’s most fearsome villains, aside from themselves of course. They didn’t yet know how well the group would mesh, or if any of them would even become friends on the same level as Kal, Thomas, and Eve were, but that didn’t matter. If anyone wasn’t a good fit, they could be dealt with and replaced with ease. 

The Crime Syndicate of Amerika was shaping up rather nicely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Panopticon is, as far as I'm aware, not featured in any canon Earth 3 incarnations. But it's fairly obviously an alternate version of the JLA Watchtower (which is admittedly my least favorite JLA headquarters, but the one that best fits the Crime Syndicate). A panopticon is a sort of room where prisoners can be viewed without knowing whether or not the guards are watching them at that very moment. Not knowing when you're being watched leads people to always act on their best behavior, out of constant paranoia. That seems more than suitable, considering how the Crime Syndicate views the Earth. The name also has a Greek myth origin (the multi-eyed Panoptes), so I like to think that it was Superwoman's idea to name it that.
> 
> Elastic-Man is the Earth 3 version of Plastic Man, and a (mostly) original idea. Elasti-Man has appeared once before, as the E3 version of Elongated Man, but that's slightly different, and based on another hero, so meh. I like Plas better, hence him getting the shoutout.
> 
> Blue Bowman's name comes from Batman: The Brave and The Bold. He didn't get any real personality, so I made mine an inverse of Oliver Queen. Where Ollie Queen is a proud warrior for social progress and reform, Ollie King is a bigot, a white nationalist, and little more than a thug.
> 
> Martin Stein, Atomica, Johnny Quick, Sea King, and Power Ring are largely influenced by the New52 incarnations of the characters, but again, I'm making changes to suit my own preferences. Rhonda and Johnny are smarter than in Forever Evil, and are more responsible for their own powers. Stein has yet to become Deathstorm, but Power Ring is almost exactly the same. I think that out of the entire New52 Crime Syndicate, he was the closest to my ideal for the character. Although that's mostly because of how his cursed ring went on to possess Jessica Cruz, and we later got some more elaboration on its previous hosts, such as Solomon Baz.
> 
> And in regards to Johnny, this version of him is an alternate version of the Earth 2 hero of the same name, hence him being Jonathan Chambers rather than Barry Allen or John Allen or whatever. I think the original Johnny Quick was implied to be Chambers as well, but I'm making it explicit. 
> 
> Thomas' mind control helmet is based on the versions of Owlman from before New52, although he's still working out the kinks. 
> 
> And yes, this Superwoman is named Eve. Or rather, that's her nickname. As for her true identity, you'll have to wait for her focus chapter to find out who she really is! Let's just say she's a throwback to a personal favorite Golden Age character.
> 
> And I think that about covers it for this chapter's trivia! Please, leave a comment and kudos! I thrive on feedback!


	4. Eviless

She tasted stardust on her lips, and waves of solar radiation washed over her hair as she crashed into the water, leaving a trail of fire and smoke as she came down. Her ears were muffled by the sea, and she could barely see through half-lidded eyes as a pair of women pulled her towards the shore. The pulled the water from her lungs and fed her a strange red fruit. It tasted sweet and tangy and it helped ease the pain of atmospheric entry. They asked her questions in a tongue she didn’t understand. Not until she pulled the vocabulary from their minds and added it to her own. 

“Where did you come from? How did you find our island?”

She tried to answer, but all she could manage was a slight groan before blackness swamped her vision, and pulled her into a deep slumber.

She awoke in a cave, laying on the softest bedding she had ever known. There was a woman sitting beside her, clad in bronze armor. Her long red hair was tied back in a ponytail, and there was a long scar across her cheek. She smiled when she saw her charge stir, and she pressed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“You are okay. Safe. My sisters pulled you from the water, and our healers nursed you back to health.”

“And you are?” she asked, her voice still hoarse, and hardly above a whisper.

“I am called Cassiopeia. I am your… guard, I suppose you could say. It is my duty to make sure that no harm befalls you, and to thwart any escape attempts on your part. Just until we know that you are not a threat to the peace of our home”

Her voice was sweet, like honey and wine. It brought a gentle smile to her charge’s face, and when the injured woman held out a hand, Cassiopeia held it in her own. She smiled down at her charge and promised her that all would be well. She was among not just friends, but sisters, and lovers. 

She cared for the fallen angel for days and days, keeping her company even under the cover of night. For eight days and eight nights, Cassiopeia stayed by her side. She fed her, clothed her, bathed her, and talked to her, until she was well enough to stand on her own again. She found herself answering many questions, though her charge always managed to elude answering any of her own.

“Who are we? We are the Amazons. The love we have for one another is boundless, and any woman who comes to our island is welcomed as one of our sisters,” Cassiopeia explained. “Sometimes as… more,” she added with a slight blush.

“This sounds like a wonderful place, Cass,” she told her with a gentle smile, as they sat beside each other at the cave’s mouth, and watched the stars. There was a star shower that night, and it was one of the most beautiful sights either had ever witnessed. Second most beautiful, in Cassiopeia’s eyes. 

She regarded the raven haired beauty with nothing short of adoration. Though she knew so little about her, she did know that the woman was more stunning than the most beautiful of Amazons. With long curls that reached the small of her waist, and ivory skin, and cheekbones that surely must have been sculpted by Aphrodite herself. Cassiopeia wanted to know more. Even the smallest morsel of knowledge would be enough to sate her hunger.

“Please… Won’t you at least tell me your name?” Cass asked as she pressed one of the sweet red fruits into her charge’s hands. She held her by the wrists and looked into her grey eyes, pleading silently.

“For you, Cassiopeia,” she agreed with a small, sly smile. She held her caretaker’s gaze as she whispered the name her own people gave her, many years ago, and many planets away. “My name is Eviless. But my friends call me Eve.”

Cassiopeia’s cheeks flushed red, and a smile lit up her face. It was the most beautiful name she had ever heard, despite being so alien to her ears. According to Eve, it meant “royalty” in her native tongue. 

“And where do you come from? What do you call your home? Is it from man’s world?”

“My home is beyond the world of men, fortunately,” Eve said with an angelic laugh. “I hail from the world called Saturn. I am a queen there, although a coup has cast me from my kingdom, and brought me here.”

“I hope you don’t mind, Eve, but I… I have to tell my queen what you have told me. But I am sure, knowing your story, she will allow you to become one of us. Even if your kingdom won’t accept you, you have a place here, as an Amazon. You are… to me, you are already one of my sisters.”

“Is that all I am, Cass?”

“I-I… I do not wish to presume, Eve. That is all.”

“But what am I to you? Tell me,” Eviless insisted, pressing the subject not just with words, but with a small impulse of thought, from her mind to the redhead’s.

“I would want nothing more than to call you my love,” Cassiopeia admitted, as tears welled up in her eyes. 

“If your queen accepts me as an Amazon, then I would gladly allow such a thing,” Eviless told her, with a gentle squeeze of the hand. Cassiopeia nodded her head, wiped the tears from her eyes, and stood. She asked Eve not to leave the cave as she went to Hippolyta and told her Eve’s story. Eve agreed, and stayed sitting beneath the stars until Cass returned, with a regal looking blonde woman and dark skinned general in tow.

They spoke in quiet, reserved voices. Asked her all sorts of questions. Why her people turned on her, what she could have done to earn their ire. They held a golden lasso in hand, but a slight nudge from Eve’s mind told them that she was trustworthy and honest, and that the lasso would not be needed. Her answers were taken as fact, and backed up by Cassiopeia. Once satisfied, Hippolyta and Phillipus welcomed Eve with open arms, and allowed Cassiopeia to show Eve the rest of the island. 

They knew that they could trust her, that she deserved a place as one of their sisters. And as Eve toured the island that night, she found that she loved her new home. It was far more beautiful than her own planet, and filled with far more likable people. People who were suspicious of outsiders, but more than accepting of one who had been deemed worthy to join their populace. 

So many Amazonian sisters to call her own. So many to _enslave_.

********************

“Are you sure that this must be done, my love?” 

The words trembled on Cassiopeia’s tongue, as she looked deep into Eve’s silver eyes. For years now, it had become slowly apparent to Cassiopeia that Hippolyta was no longer fit to lead the Amazons. That their solitary nature was doing more harm to them than good. Their development was stagnating, according to Eve. While the Amazons had developed the Purple Ray, man’s world was already exploring the stars! Their only hope, truly, was to venture out to the outside world, and to claim that knowledge which they so sorely lacked. And perhaps, they could even claim some of those men as their chattel. After all, no Amazons had ever born children. Not in their entire history. How could they grow, as a people, as a society, if they only grew when a lone woman happened upon their shores? But still, even then, the idea of betraying her queen was terrifying. Nearly unspeakable.

“You know it must be done, my dearest. We have no other choice, unless we wish to see our sisters be subjugated when the men inevitably discover our island. You have **no choice** but to admit it, we simply **must** take their world by **force** , before they take our’s.”

Cassiopeia’s fearful expression faltered, and a mask of calm grew over her anxieties. She had no choice but to admit that Eve was right. They had to take man’s world by force, and the only way to do that was to replace Hippolyta with a better queen. Her own experiences and feelings filled in the rest. It had to be someone with experience as a ruler. Someone with a vision for the Amazons, that would take them beyond their solitary existence.

Eve would make a perfect queen. She knew it, deep in her heart. So did many of their sisters. Io and Egeria and Magala were all in agreement. Mala and Nu’bia were more than willing to lend their might, as were Sofia and Aella and Mercy. Many more were falling into line with each passing day. All it took was a conversation with Eve, behind closed doors, where the queen and her most loyal could not overhear, and yet another sister would agree to support them. 

Cassiopeia knew that it had to be done. She gripped her sword and shield tightly and nodded her head, before kissing her love. It was time for them to be queens.

She led the charge herself, as any queen ought to. As it quickly became apparent, Eviless had more powers than the average Amazon at her disposal. She flew above a small crowd of royal soldiers that guarded Hippolyta’s chambers, and called her own soldiers to fight. 

Blades clashed against shields, and sister spat at sister as the battle raged. 

An arrow from Mercy’s bow pierced Penthesilea’s heart, and Nu’bia’s blade released Aleka’s head from its body at the jawline. It rolled along the floor, lifeless, until Cassiopeia kicked it out of the way as she lunged towards Raina. She bashed her sister backwards with her shield, and then sliced her off at the knees, before sinking her blade into her forehead. There was no hesitation in her actions. Only a conviction that she was doing what was right.

Cassiopeia stood at Eve’s side and watched with a hint of a smile as Io and Kasia tore Antiope into a pile of blood and viscera. Only two remained, inside the throne room. Their queen, Hippolyta, and her general, Phillipus. 

Hessia and Hope kicked down the door, and bowed as Eviless sauntered inside. The queen stood tall, with one hand at her side, and the golden lasso in her other. Her dearest general stood beside her, sword and shield at the ready, fully prepared to defend her queen with her life. But that wasn’t what Eviless had in mind. 

The raven haired alien held out a hand, her palm aimed directly at Phillipus, and a devilish grin lit up her face as Cassiopeia shielded her. Her silver eyes glowed a bright, electric blue, and Phillipus’ shield clattered to the floor. Her own eyes matched Eviless’, and she turned like a puppet on a string, and raised her blade to Hippolyta’s throat. 

“You are a deceiver, Eviless,” Hippolyta stated matter-of-factly as her usurper approached. Eviless merely laughed, and patted the queen on her head. 

“What I am, you ignorant child, is the queen of the Amazons. You were just too soft. Too content with peace, when you could have had so much more.”

“I’ve heard of your plans. How you wish to use men as slaves, and discard them when you’re finished abusing them. How you wish to kill anyone who stands in your way.”

“I’ve already done that.”

“And that is why I’ll stand against you, until the bitter end.” Hippolyta closed her eyes, and spoke again, as a tinge of sadness creeped into her words. “I was happy to accept you as my sister, Eviless. I never wanted it to come to this.”

“Hmph. Still a fool, to the very end. Tell me, would you rather be killed by your lover, your healer, or me? I think they all have a special meaning, in their own ways. Or perhaps I’ll ask Cassiopeia to do it? As a final show of loyalty to her new queen.”

“I would do it gladly, my queen,” Cassiopeia said with a bow of her head.

“None of you will get the chance,” Hippolyta spat. 

In one second, the coup ended. A golden light snaked around Eviless’ wrist, and try as she might, she could not free herself. She barked at Phillipus to kill Hippolyta, but the general staggered and held onto her head instead. Mercy and Hope refused the same order, as did Io and Kasia. They all turned their weapons on Eviless, her control over them broken by the lasso’s might. 

Only Cassiopeia remained loyal. Yet she was no match for the combined might of all her sisters. They bound Cassiopeia’s wrists, and bound Eviless’ arms to her side with the golden lasso, before marching them down to the same shore where Eve was first rescued. A boat was there, waiting for a passenger to sail it. 

No words were spoken, but everyone knew what was soon to happen. Eviless and Cassiopeia faced each other, ignoring the glares and sneers from their sisters. A few eyes were cast downwards, those that belonged to Amazons who truly believed in Eviless’ plans, but were cowed by the change in tide at the end of the battle. They would claim that she controlled them as well, that she forced their minds into blind submission. But Cassiopeia knew the truth, and she alone was proud to swear her undying loyalty to her queen.

They shared a final kiss before Eviless was placed on the boat and cast out to sea. Cassiopeia called out to her, swore to her that she would wait for her return. That she would join Eviless again someday. That together, they would kill Hippolyta and conquer the world, as queen and general. The way it was always meant to be.

Cassiopeia was imprisoned in the very same cave where she first cared for Eviless. A magic barrier prevented her from leaving, but allowed her sisters to come and go as they pleased, although they only did so to leave her food and drink, or a change of clothes. But every night, when she looked up at the stars, she thought about her fallen angel, who she knew would return to her someday.

********************

Steve and Etta Trevor walked along the beach of Normandy, enjoying their holiday, when they saw a woman wash ashore. Unkempt black hair covered her face, but it seemed as though something was tied around her. A rope of some sort. Steve tried to cut it off of the poor, helpless woman, but it wouldn’t break. It took several minutes to untie the knot, but they finally managed to do so.

She whipped her head up and gazed deeply into their eyes, which turned to a cold, glowing blue, matching her own. Like puppets, they brought her back to their hotel room. They fed her, bathed her, clothed her, and then left, under her orders, to steal whatever they could find from the nearest boutique for her. 

She would take man’s world. She would grind it under her booted heel and make it submit. And once she had an army composed of every nation’s finest warriors, she would return to that damned island and tear Hippolyta’s heart from her chest with her own hands. Then, she would turn her sights on Saturn. Two homes had betrayed her, and they would _both_ pay the price.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! I think that this is my biggest departure from regular Earth 3 canon, but tbh Superwoman kiiiind of needed it. Her Earth 3 depictions kind of suck. Pre Crisis was just a generic evil Diana Prince, other versions are mixtures of Lois Lane and Diana, which is eh. And she's usually banging all of her teammates and enemies, which is a trope I'm not very fond of.
> 
> So! This version of her is actually an alternate version of an old Golden Age Wonder Woman villain named Eviless! She came from Saturn, enslaved people, and eventually wound up being imprisoned on Paradise Island. I changed her physical appearance to match how Superwoman is generally depicted, but I kept her background as hailing from Saturn, and having the telepathic powers that denizens of Saturn typically have in DC. 
> 
> Cassiopeia is an OC, mostly created since I wanted an Amazon who was loyal to Eve, but I didn't want to slander any canon Amazons by making them evil. She's sort of based on the New52 Amazons, who were man hating rapists and just all around terrible. I wanted to show how an Amazon might be able to get to that point, but also show that the vast majority of them are nothing close to okay with that behavior. 
> 
> And just to be clear on one part, Eve's line about the purple ray vs spaceships is meant to be her manipulating Cass. You can't really compare them, but even if you did, the purple ray is comic book super science that is waaaay more futuristic than rockets. But Eve managed to make it seem primitive, since manipulating people is kind of her thing.
> 
> That said, I wanted to show Eviless as genuinely loving Cassiopeia, even if she's a murderous, manipulative supervillain. They care about each other, in an evil way.
> 
> On top of all that, every Amazon mentioned aside from Cassiopeia is a canon character in the comics. Mercy and Hope are notable for having normally left Paradise Island to work for Lex Luthor as his body guards, but here they're (probably) loyal to Hippolyta. 
> 
> Beyond that, I don't think there's anything left to mention for this one? Steve and Etta are probably gonna be fine, unless Eviless decides to keep them as her slaves forever. But I'll leave their fates up to you to decide.


	5. Three Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning on this being the next chapter (it was supposed to be either Jokester or Johnny Quick & Atomika), but it just kind of... wrote itself? So eh, here it is! I'm pretty happy with it either way. Hope you like it!

Her eyes opened, and her vision was blurry. She was cold, despite the fact that it was the middle of summer. The air was damp. She felt sweat matting her hair to her forehead. Her hands were held behind her, and cuffed at the wrists. Her feet were tied to the metal folding chair she sat in, bound by rope. She felt the air brush across her skin, through a tear in her stockings. As her vision cleared, she understood where she was, but not how she had wound up there.

She recognized the warehouse. It was an old shipping plant by the Gotham docks. She’d been there often enough, seen what happened there. It’s just that she wasn’t typically the one sitting in the chair. Her confusion quickly gave way to a hardened resolve, and she stared daggers at the blonde haired man who shared the warehouse with her. He was leaning against a wooden table, his hands caressing a variety of metal tools and instruments. He paused on a knife, and considered it for a moment, before drifting over to a police baton. 

“What the fuck is this, JP?!” Jessica spat. The man smirked, and spared her a glance. 

“What does it look like, Miss Dent?” He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, showing off a variety of religious tattoos that coated his forearms. Hidden among the crosses and quotes of scripture were a handful of scars and splotchy bruises. “The boss wanted me to handle a problem. You _know_ how I handle problems...”

Jessica stared at JP in bewilderment. She sputtered for a moment as she found her words. “I’m loyal, JP. You know _that_. I’d never betray Boss Maroni!”

JP laughed at that, but Jessica pressed on, growing more and more furious with each word. “I’ve practically sold my soul for him! Do you even know how many judges I’ve bribed, how many jurys I’ve rigged, how much blackmail I’ve dug up on that idiot DA?! And you put _me_ in the _chair_?!” 

JP walked over to her, gripped a handful of black hair in one hand, and yanked her head back. His cold blue eyes stared deep into her, practically boring through her, and a sadistic joy lit up his face. He lifted a knife to her neck and shushed her. Her heart began to pound, not from anger anymore but from fear, because if anyone would kill another of Maroni’s people without a care, it was Jean Paul “Angel of Death” Valley. He slid the blade across her neck, careful enough to not draw any blood, but letting it sink in that he could end her life at any moment. It was effective, she had to give him that. But she never wanted to be on the receiving end of the treatment.

“The boss knows about your… extracurricular… activities, Miss Dent,” JP whispered. “He’s well aware of the information that you’ve been feeding the feds. Becoming an informant? Really? What were you thinking, that you’d get Maroni arrested and then fuck off to some backwoods town under a different name? Really? Has that _ever_ worked?” He laughed again, all light and airy, yet utterly cold.

Jessica’s blood ran cold. He knew. Somehow, someway, Maroni knew. She had been so careful, always watched her back to make sure she didn’t have a tail when she met with agent Zsasz, but they _knew_. And now she was worse than dead. She was in the chair.

She thought he’d start with the knife. He had flaunted it enough. But to her surprise, and to her intense pain, he started with the police baton. One strike to her shoulder, and her treatment had begun. She had a feeling that JP was going to go much farther with her than he did with most of his victims. And having sat in for so many of his procedures, that was a terrifying possibility. 

********************  
**24 hours later.**

Jessica Dent stared at the floor through half-lidded eyes. Blood dripped from her nose and onto her skirt. It was hot, stifling. JP had shut off the cooling when he left for the night, and a heat wave had begun by the time Jessica woke up. She was still in the chair, leaning over herself, barely able to process the pain she was in. The handcuffs dug into her wrists, and her entire body ached from JP’s brutality. She whimpered from the pain of her broken shoulder as she shifted in her seat. A glance at her feet, and the lack of toenails, nearly made her lose her lunch. But she only had a few moments of quiet before her tormentor returned.

The shutter flew open, and JP stood there, in front of her, bathed in sunlight. Like a sick, twisted angel. 

“Good morning, Miss Dent. I hope you’re ready for another beautiful day in Gotham City. I know I am…” he taunted her, walking over to his table and picking up a corkscrew. Her stomach turned, recalling how he had twisted it into the flesh of her leg the night before. She’d almost rather he go back to the baton, or his fists. 

“Blease…” she whimpered, barely audible. Her broken nose, and the blood in her mouth, hampered her ability to speak properly. “Blease… don’d do id again…”

“Not a fan of the screw? I always wondered what it felt like myself. Didn’t you? It must be _fascinating_ , to experience this from both sides, eh? I’d love to pick your brain sometime, see what it’s like.”

She didn’t know if he was being figurative or not. She prayed that he was, as he grabbed the knife off the table. 

“Jusd… dell me how?”

“How? How what?” JP looked at her with genuine curiosity, as he turned the knife in his hands.

“How did Maroni know? Know I was dalging to da feds?” 

She blinked away tears as JP chuckled to himself. He sighed and shrugged his shoulders, like he was deciding to let her in on a secret.

“Maroni isn’t the boss anymore, Miss Dent. He suffered a bad case of broken neck two days before I drugged you and brought you here. The new boss is the one who knew about your deals with the FBI.”

“Who…?”

“The Owl, Miss Dent. The Owlman is the new boss in Gotham. And he’s plugging all the leaks. Starting, of course, with you.

“Now then, I think we’ll finally get to the fun stuff today,” JP said to himself with a small smile. The blade glinted in the sunlight, and he reached out to grab Jessica’s chin and tilt her head upwards. She looked at him through a curtain of stringy, sweaty black hair and began to cry. He ignored her pleas as his knife danced across the surface of her skin, so close to breaking the flesh. And then, finally, it did.

The torture went on for hours, with JP never going too far before pausing, and stitching up the cuts and gashes. He didn’t want her to die from the wounds to the lower portion of her face. He wasn’t nearly close to being ready for this to end. Not yet. He would only carve one or two slices into her face before stopping and treating the wounds. He took the time, and the care, to make sure that he never drove her to pass out. She was conscious for all of it. Every painful moment. And with each cut, it felt like he was splitting off a piece of her. A part of her mind that was being cleaved away. Becoming as cold and detached as him.

********************  
**48 hours later.**

Jessica stared straight ahead, dead eyed and blank faced. She heard JP come in, but she didn’t turn to look at him. He said something, but it was so far away from her mind that she could hardly hear it. She was far, far away. She hadn’t slept at all the night before. Her body wouldn’t allow itself any rest, any peace. She could hardly focus on anything, let alone the fear of another day’s pain and torment. 

She was thinking about the day she first met JP, oddly enough. It was in the very same warehouse. She wanted to see what the so-called “Angel of Death” was capable of. She even took a sort of sick pleasure in watching him work. It was impressive, she had thought, how coldly detached he was through it all. Like he was handling pieces of art, rather than traitors and members of rival families. 

The sound of a coin being flipped brought her rushing back to the present. JP was standing above her, holding the coin in his open palm and smiling. 

“It took me longer than I’d like to admit to figure out that trick, you know,” he said with an air of amusement. Like they were friends. Like he hadn’t spent three days breaking her mind and body.

“Wha…?”

“The coin trick, Miss Dent. When we first met, you were flipping this coin. You made me bet, heads or tails. If it came up heads, I’d kill that rat on the first night. If it was tails, I’d take my time, finish him when I felt like it.” He flipped the coin again, and then snatched it out of the air. He opened his hand, and showed off the result. Heads. 

“I didn’t know it was a trick coin for years. Two heads. Pretty funny, no?” JP asked with a small, friendly laugh. He flipped it again, and caught it again. This time, when he opened his hand, Jessica’s eyes went wide with shock.

One of the coin’s sides had been defaced. Deep cuts marred the face of the figure on its surface. For the first time, the two headed coin came up tails.

“I made it match you, Jessica. A little gift, before I finish this.” He flipped the coin one more time, and let it fall to the floor at Jessica’s feet. Scarred side up. She shut her eyes tight and cursed his name. “I think we’ve been heading towards this conclusion for a long time, Miss Dent. See, there are two kinds of people in this world. There are the dead, and there are the death dealers. At the end of the day, which do you _really_ think you are?” She felt every scar on the lower half of her face. All across her jaw and mouth. Something inside her raged at him, threatening to break free at any moment. 

She was too busy holding it back to notice JP slip a hand into his coat pocket. Too busy restraining her rage to see the vial of clear, greenish liquid that he pulled out and uncorked. But when the acid splashed onto the upper-right hand side of her face, she felt it bubble and boil and burn the flesh away. Her garbled screams filled the summer air, and she turned her head skyward as her flesh was destroyed further. Acid splashed down onto her right hand, burning the flesh there as well. Some even fell down onto her ankle, burning through the rope that bound her to the chair. 

JP didn’t have enough time to react as she leapt at him. He tried to fight back, to push her away, but she was fighting with blind, destructive fury. White hot anger poured out of her scarred mouth in a string of expletives, and she wrapped the chain of her handcuffs around his neck from behind and pulled. He struggled helplessly, trying to pull the chain off, trying to gasp for air, but she just roared and threw him onto the ground. He spat and coughed as air finally entered his lungs, but a kick to the ribs made him collapse again. 

She hobbled over to the table, and grabbed the gun. JP turned and rolled over onto his back, and saw her standing above him. One corner of her face was scarred and sliced and stitched back together, her lip pulled up into a permanent sneer. Another section of her face was twisted and burned, turned a sickly green color, with a bulging red eye. And one portion of her was still recognizable as Jessica Dent. Still the calm, measured lawyer. But she wasn’t alone anymore, and he could see that.

_”I oughta shove this gun right up your ass and empty the damn clip,”_ she spat down at him, maddened fury written across her face.

“No… No, we have to leave,” she said to herself, allowing the gun to lower for a moment. “We don’t want Owlman to come after us. We have to get out of Gotham.”

_”And let these bastards win?! Fuck that! He deserves to die, just like he was gonna kill us.”_ She refocused, kneeling down and pressing the gun to JP’s forehead. The cool metal against his temple put the fear of God into the Angel of Death.

“We can’t just… Just make that decision,” she told herself. “We can’t just do that, Harv.”

_”Tell you what, Jess…”_ she leaned over and picked the coin up off the ground, and held it between her thumb and forefinger, showing off both sides to the panicking JP. _”Why don’t we flip for it? Let The Judge decide…”_

“T-The who? Wh-Who are you t-talking to?” JP stammered, before the gun’s butt was smashed into his forehead, shutting him up.

_”Shut up, you fuck! We’re having a discussion here.”_

“Alright, Harv… We’ll flip for it,” Jessica agreed. She closed her good eye and flipped the coin, then caught it as it fell. JP nearly cried when he saw the scarred side facing up. 

“No… Please, no…”

**”Guilty.”**

The Judge aimed her gun at JP’s head and pulled the trigger with a sense of grim finality. It was an execution, carried out without hesitation or remorse. And when The Judge’s duty was finished, and she retreated back inside of their body, Big Bad Harv dropped the gun on the table, fished the handcuff key out of JP’s pocket, and freed herself. She grabbed the gun and wandered out the door, into the Gotham summer. 

She stumbled over to the water of the docks, and saw her reflection in it. Her face, like her mind, had been split into three pieces. The three were all so different from one another, and yet they were unanimous in their second decision. Owlman would pay for what he had done to them. He had created his own worst enemy. 

_Jokester ain’t the only hero in this hellhole of a city,”_ Harv said with a grin.

“You’re right about that much,” Jessica agreed with a slight nod. She spared a look back at JP’s corpse in the warehouse, and mused about her first life taken. “I guess you were wrong, Jean Paul. There aren’t two kinds of people in this world.”

_”There’s three.”_

********************  
**Five years later.**

Billy Jones and Tommy Williams stood in the cold, snowy street outside of the Gotham City courthouse. Despite the cold chilling them to the bone, they were in no hurry to find shelter or warmth. Their parkas and gloves had to be enough, just for the next few minutes. Owlman had given them a job, after all, and nobody wanted to refuse orders from a member of the Crime Syndicate. Still, they had no issue with passing the time.

"Alright, fuck marry kill. Lady Clay, Mother Nature, and Three Face." Billy took a drag of his cigarette and looked at his cohort, watching the gears turn in his head as he pondered the options.

"Fuck Mother Nature."

"Obviously," Billy agreed.

"Marry Lady Clay," Tommy continued.

"Really?"

"She can turn into any woman I want, who wouldn't wanna marry that?" Tommy asked. 

"Alright, fair enough," Billy admitted with a shrug. "So you'd kill Three Face?"

"Of course I'd kill Three Face. No way in hell I'd fuck her or marry her. Not with that face," Tommy explained, disgust written across his face at the thought of the hero. He sparked up his lighter and lit a cigarette of his own, hoping it'd warm him a bit more. There was still no sight of the target. Just a lawyer leaving the court house, her hands in her coat pockets.

"I dunno man, I think she'd be pretty freaky in the bedroom," Billy said with a chuckle. He took another drag, and blew smoke up above himself.

The two gangsters stood around for a few more moments, still waiting, letting silence hang between them as the snow fell gently. Billy finished his cigarette and flicked it into a snowbank behind them. The door to the courthouse opened again, and this time it was another woman leaving. Older, with long black hair. Latina. She matched the description that Owlman had given them. Tommy nudged Billy in the ribs and motioned to draw his gun. They each carried a pistol, and leveled them at the woman.

"Good evening, commissioner!" Billy called out, catching her attention. She looked like a deer in headlights. "Say hello to your predecessor for me!"

Before the men could pull the triggers on their guns, bullets ripped through their wrists, causing the firearms to drop into the snow at their feet. Billy cried out in pain, while Tommy whipped around to face their attacker. She sneered at them on one side, but smiled on the other. Her coat was a normal shade of beige on one side, a zebra print on the other, and bright white down the center. In one black gloved hand she held a handgun of her own, and in the other, bare hand, she held a coin. She flipped it twice, and fired the gun once. 

"Please... don't kill me," Billy begged, falling to his knees, nursing his wounded wrist. Tommy was dead in the snow beside him. 

"Don't worry, Mr. Jones..." she said calmly as she walked over to the commissioner. _"Your coin came up heads.”_

The commissioner wasted no time in arresting the surviving gangster, while Three Face watched from the courthouse steps. She pulled out a phone and held it to her ear as the scene unfolded. 

"Hey, Jokes? It's me. Yeah, Commissioner Montoya is fine. Looks like you were right about Owlman gunning for her. We'll keep our eyes on her until he backs off, just to be sure. No, just a couple of lowlifes. They used to work for Maroni, back in the day. I'll see you around. Say hi to the kid for me."

It was a cold, bitter winter in Gotham. But the city was a hell of a lot better than it was just a few years ago. Owlman thought he owned Gotham, that it was his and his alone. The fact that heroes were popping up all over to foil his plans was no doubt getting to him. Three Face couldn't help but feel good about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes time! Dunno if anybody even likes these, but I like talking about what I put into this AU.
> 
> Three Face being the Earth 3 counterpart of Two Face comes from the 00s, where it was Evelyn Dent. Aside from the name though, and having three personalities, my version is largely its own thing. And rather than being a counterpart of Harvey Dent, she's a counterpart of Jessica Dent, the Two Face from the Earth One graphic novels. So this is sort of a mix of those two, plus my own ideas.
> 
> Her personalities, "Jessica", "Big Bad Harv", and "The Judge" come from Batman: The Animated Series, where Harvey has the latter two as his alters. Although here, The Judge is the one who flips the coin and decides whether or not to do the good or bad thing. Sort of the middle, neutral party, between Jessica's good side and Harv's bad side. 
> 
> JP Valley, "The Angel of Death", is my take on an evil version of Jean Paul Valley, AKA Azrael AKA 90s Batman. Here he's just a mob fixer with some religious imagery. Jean Paul gets a bad rap because of his Batman tenure, but I actually like him a lot, and I was excited to tackle his mirror universe counterpart. Rather than being part of Owlman's inner circle, he's a remnant of Maroni's family that tried to stick around when Owlman took over Gotham. 
> 
> The two gangsters at the end are named after Billy Dee Williams and Tommy Lee Jones, who both played Harvey Dent in the 90s Batman films. Not much else about them, but I'm on record as a fan of Billy Dee Williams, and a firm believer that he should play Two Face in live action. 
> 
> Lady Clay is a take on Clayface that I might get more into later on in this fic, and Mother Nature is obviously Poison Ivy's counterpart here. I've got a whole list of Gotham heroes who are opposed to Owlman and his people.


	6. Teen Tyrants

Terror Tower stood above Jump City, motionless and oppressive. The gigantic, black, T-shaped structure had been erected just weeks before, and already it felt as though the west coast city would never escape its looming shadow. Behind one yellow window, on the uppermost level of the tower, stood Talon. At just fifteen years of age, he had found himself the third, and most recent, partner of Gotham City’s infamous Owlman. A mischievous smirk flashed across the brunette’s face as an explosion went off in the waters that circled their island in the bay. The limp body of a humanoid sea creature rose to the surface.

“The mines are working,” he noted, maintaining his devilish grin.

The girl standing beside him snorted and put her hands on her hips. She shook her head, and her shaggy black hair bounced with it. “Why’d you have to test it on Swamp Boy? That was the last member of Tyrants East!” 

“I thought you hated those copycats, Connie,” Talon said, turning to look at his best and closest friend.

“Of course I do. That’s why I wanted to take him out back and kill him myself!”

Talon rolled his eyes as Ultragirl flipped off the bobbing corpse of the mutated Atlantean. His eyes quickly returned to her, though. Or rather, to her backside. He couldn't exactly remember when she switched to the leotard and leather jacket look, but he certainly wasn’t about to complain anytime soon. She pushed her sunglasses up onto her forehead and floated backwards through the air, towards the C shaped sofa that was set into the center of the room. Talon had ripped off the designs for the Panopticon’s rec room, albeit with a few modifications. 

“Computer: Channel 52 news.” Talon snapped his fingers, and a low beep responded as confirmation of the order. The television, which was set onto the table that the sofa looped around, lit up with footage of a battle from earlier in the week. They were still talking about the fight between the Teen Tyrants and Tyrants East.

Ultragirl looked up from her phone just in time to laugh at the sight of herself crushing Junebug’s head between her hands. Talon sat down on the sofa beside her, and slung an arm over her shoulders. She glanced at him, and sized up his newest costume. After their tussle with the wannabes, his old one had been reduced to tatters. Good for admiring the body beneath, but not so good for surviving another brawl with metahumans. The new one was similar enough to his last, but she appreciated the differences. 

The brown and grey tunic and pants had stuck around, but he replaced the domino mask with a brown cowl, and his feathered cape was longer, closer to the length of his mentor’s own. He even wore a pair of goggles not unlike Owlman’s, though they were brass rather than silver. 

The video feed continued, showing Aurora, the third member of their team, as she strafed the street and shot down beams of orange light. Concussive blasts which crunched cars like potato chips with sheer force. When one beam struck Scarlet Scarab, he was pounded into the pavement. When a second hit him, his alien armor burst open, exposing the human boy who wore it. When the third blast of light hit, the camera cut away to spare the audience the sight of his remains.

Talon, or rather, the Talon on screen, was hurling a handful of explosive pellets at Protector, a boy who had decided to try and copy all of Talon’s gear. Unfortunately for the supposed leader of Tyrants East, he hadn’t constructed a costume that was capable of shielding his face from micro explosives.

And the last image that the camera caught before the feed cut out was of Ultragirl throwing a slab of asphalt at Oceana, crushing both her and the unfortunate camera operator she was standing near. 

In the present, ignoring the broadcast, Ultragirl was still looking at her teammate and boyfriend. Jackson had been the one who sprung her from Cadmus back when they first created her. They had wanted her as a weapon against Ultraman, the being who her cloned DNA originally belonged to. But because of Talon’s intervention, she had been given the chance to pick her own path, and it just so happened to be following in her mentor’s footsteps. 

She reached out and pulled off Talon’s mask, and before he could so much as ask what she was doing, she had locked her lips with his. They were alone, after all, and she was getting bored. Talon, Jackson, smiled and leaned into the kiss. He shifted his position and began straddling her lap, while she pulled him in and tugged lightly on his hair. 

Before the eighteen year old super criminals could go any further, they felt a sudden drop in temperature and a powerful drop in their stomachs. It was like gravity was pulling them down harder than normal, and the light in the room seemed to dim just slightly. The air above them split open, leaving a black void hanging ominously over their heads. Out of the void stepped a young woman with grey skin, who was practically swimming in a billowing red cloak. A red jewel was fixed to her forehead, and beneath the cloak she wore a matching red dress. She peered down at them, her expression impossible to read.

“...is that?” Talon asked, fear gripping him like a vice.

“It must be. I’ve only seen her in old videos online…” Connie gulped, and slowly pushed her boyfriend off of her lap and onto the couch beside her. 

The levitating woman peered at them with eyes that glowed dimly, like a pair of smoldering coals. Black energy, like that which flowed from the tear in reality behind her, swamped around her hands as she performed a series of signs. Without warning, a snarling horned creature leapt out of the void and skittered to a stop on the floor, near the windows. The beast, which appeared to be a crimson unicorn, contorted and twisted with a continuing sickening crunch as its bones rearranged themselves, until it was standing on two legs, in the form of a shirtless young man. 

“You…” the witch said in a voice that slithered like a pile of snakes, staring directly at, or perhaps into, Talon. “You… Are not Richard Grayson.”

“No, I’m not,” he confirmed. His mentor had taught him how to swallow his fear, and so he did. He had faced down heroes like Lady Clay and Mister Zero without getting so much as a broken leg. Sure, he was facing down someone of a whole different caliber, but he wouldn’t be Talon if he didn’t have nerves forged from steel. So he stood up, and he positioned his hands near his utility belt. At a moment’s notice, a collapsible bo staff and an owlrang would be in his hands, ready to kill.

The woman in red gave the room a once-over, then turned her gaze back to the pair of villains below her. “Where is Richard Grayson?” she asked. Neither one responded, and so she looked Ultragirl in the eyes and compelled an answer by magic. “ _Where is Richard Grayson?_ ”

“Dead! He’s dead, okay? Jeez…” Ultragirl squirmed as the spell wore off. It was like bugs were crawling, itching beneath her skin until she gave an answer. And so, the witch looked at Talon once again.

“You are his replacement?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.” Jackson glared at the girl, and pulled his cowl back on. “You’re Crow, aren’t you? You were on the original Teen Tyrants with him. I’ve seen the archived footage in the coop. You up and vanished, taking him…” He gestured at the red-furred boy with his thumb and a jerk of his head, “...with you. So what I want to know is this; Where did you go, and why are you back?”

Crow exchanged looks with her companion, before deigning to explain things to Talon and Ultragirl. “In an attempt to awaken my father, the demon lord Trigon, Menagerie and I were taken to another dimension. We had no way home, and were lost in a world where the forces of science waged war against beings of magic. A world where magic was nearly snuffed out under their totalitarian rule. A world in which Garfield's shape-shifting powers were elevated to a new level.

“That world is now devoted, utterly and completely, to the worship of my father. Just as this world shall be, once I wake him from his slumber and unleash him upon its populace.” She lowered herself to the floor, and Menagerie padded over to stand beside her. She placed a hand on his shoulder. Her long, sharp black fingernails scraped against his flesh, drawing blood, and he bared jagged teeth in a masochistic grin. “Richard Grayson may be gone, but the two of you, and your team, shall serve as adequate replacements.”

Crow and Menagerie looked at Talon and Ultragirl with a thinly veiled hunger. Their eyes locked with those of the leaders of the Teen Tyrants, and it was understood that this wasn’t so much an offer as it was an order. A statement of a new directive. Their little team of sidekicks would no longer be used to wage war against other groups of villains, or to commit petty crimes. They were going to devote themselves to far loftier goals. 

“Fuck it, I was getting bored with killing other teenagers anyways,” Connie said with a shrug. Talon smirked, and held her hand. 

“I’ll go let Violet know we have some new teammates.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It lives! Again! So, let's go over the trivia, shall we?
> 
> Talon (the third) is Jackson Drake, the Earth 3 counterpart of Timothy Drake. Based on Owlman's usual sidekick, and nothing too unique. As for how Richard Grayson died, and what happened to the second Talon (don't worry Jason Todd stans), we'll get to that in the future...
> 
> Ultragirl, AKA Connie Clarkson, AKA Kon Kal-El, is a counterpart of Conner Kent / Kon El. There's never been an Earth 3 Kon to my knowledge, so I had fun playing with the idea. I made her a female clone of an older male hero as a nod to the many many many cases of this happening in comics. The most notable of course being Laura Kinney, the clone of Wolverine. 
> 
> Aurora is based on Halo, from The Outsiders. I just love her a lot, and I pulled her name from an old Justice League animated movie, which was... not good. Her real name, Violet, is a nod to Violet Harper, the sociopathic host body that Halo inhabits in the main DC comics. 
> 
> Crow is, of course, based on Raven. Her goals are inspired by Raven from the Injustice comics, who serves her father willingly. Her appearance is based largely on the evil version of Raven who appeared as part of the Teen Tyrants in an old comic based on the Teen Titans cartoon, what with the red cloak and all. I did give her the dress that her comic counterpart had in the 80s though.
> 
> Menagerie's codename comes from Kingdom Come, as does his newfound ability to shape-shift into mythical creatures such as unicorns. His fur being red is a nod to the New52 comics, which was a dumb idea there but I think it works in a morality swap universe like this.
> 
> Tyrants East's members are shoutouts to Lagoon Boy, Bumblebee, Blue Beetle, Protector (he's just a Robin ripoff from some PSA comics), and Aquagirl.
> 
> Don't forget to kudos and comment!


End file.
